an easy part compared with yours, but I do not like the idea of it at all." 66 What, man! Faint-hearted already? Here, take a draught at this, it will do thee good," said he, pulling a flask from his jacket; " it will revive thy drooping spirits. Don't begin to flag now." "No, no, George, I want none of it: it is the thought of my father and Helen that weighs me down. Should they hear a word of this, it would be the death of me." "Bah! now thou'rt a fool. The idea of thinking about old men and women, when your fortune is at stake! You should have more heart now. "Heart! Yes, you may talk about heart in that strain, who never knew a spark of love, but have despised women all your life." 66 They were interrupted in the midst of this colloquy by the distant rumbling of a heavy vehicle coming along the road. "Hark, here they come!" said De Vere. Now, my lads, look to the priming of your barkers, and we will soon cook them a kettle of fish; and," added he, aside to one of the men, I will take myself off in the scuffle, and as soon as he has got hold of the box, arrest him in his majesty's name." 66 The coach had by this time got almost opposite the stile. The six men immediately sprang out of the meadow, and dashed at it at full speed. To knock down the guard, bind the passengers, and cut the traces were the work of a second. During this time Vargrave had got the box, and was on the point of carrying it away, when his four companions, taking staffs from their pockets, arrested him in the name of the king. "What!" said Vargrave, staring them full in the face with astonishment," do you think I am a fool to be duped out of my share in that way? Where is De Vere? he will soon show you that you have got hold of the wrong man. Come, unhand me, fellows, and let us have no more of this mummery." "De Vere! Why, who the deuce knows what he means? Do you take us for one of your crew, young man? If so, you will soon find you are sadly mistaken.' "What! do you mean to say that you did not help in the robbery? Were you not but a few minutes ago in that field with me along with George De Vere?" "No, no, young pink, you are asleep : you must be dreaming. We none of us know any De Vere, nor you either; only we know very well that you were making off with other people's property." "Ah!" said Vargrave, as a sudden thought struck him; "Helen was right. This is some infernal plot of his he has caught me in a trap that I shall never be able to get out of." point "Come, come, I say, young fellow, don't you be talking to yourself there, it will do you no good. Jump in here," ing to the coach-door, for all had been put to rights again. "Come, jump in; we have no time to lose." Vargrave was placed between the four ruffians who had so betrayed him, and was conveyed in silence until he came to the ponderous gates of Newgate, when a bitter exclamation escaped him: "Oh, my God! protect my father from the wiles of that villainous De Vere." Two days afterwards, Vargrave was to appear before the judges of his country, to be tried for the heinous crime of highway robbery. He was led to the prisoners' dock, before a large assembly of people, among whom he recognized many of his friends. He was in the greatest agony, large drops of perspiration hung upon his forehead, his feet staggered beneath him, and he would have fallen, had it not been for the support of the turnkeys. "Who accuses this man of robbery?" said the judge, rising from his seat. At that moment De Vere stepped forward, and entered the witness-box. "Well, witness, what have you to say regarding this robber?" "That I and four other men were coming up the Bristol road on the night of the robbery, and hearing a noise, we ran forward to ascertain whence it proceeded, and found that the mail was attacked by a band of ruffians. They no sooner saw us coming up, than four or five of them jumped over the adjoining hedge, and disappeared. We were just in time to arrest the young man at the bar, who was in the act of carrying away a large box. I found afterwards, to my sorrow, that the same young man was no other than my own step-brother." This statement was corroborated by De Vere's comrades, and condemned the prisoner in a moment. "Prisoner at the bar," said the judge, "what have you to say in your defence?" "That all my worthy step-brother De Vere has been pleased to say is a base calumny: 'twas he who planned the robbery; he accompanied me and the four other witnesses to a field, and joined in the attack upon the coach; and if he denies it, he will lie before God and man.' "Prisoner," said the judge, "you must be mistaken. Is it likely that they would appear as witnesses, if that were the case? You have almost condemned yourself." The jury then retired to deliberate, and returned, bringing in a verdict of Guilty. The judge then read the sentence of death with a loud clear voice, and the trial was finished. On the Friday morning after the scene above mentioned, a young female presented herself at the prison-gate, to apply for admittance to the prison. She was shown by the turnkey through a long dark passage and down a flight of steps into a dungeon, so damp and dark that it was almost a pain to breathe the heavy atmosphere. He then opened an inner door, and admitted her into the prisoner's presence. Vargrave was asleep. Helen (for it was she) stepped forward to the table, and taking a bottle from beneath her cloak, poured out a red coloured liquid into a glass. She then placed her hand quietly upon his shoulder, and whispered rather loudly, "Harry. At the music of that well-known voice he raised his head and smiled, but all at once, remembering his crime and the place he was in, he shrank back. "What! Helen, have you come to see such a fallen wretch, doomed by his country's laws to suffer an ignominious death?" "Come to see thee, Harry! Yes, I would if thou wert upon the scaffold. But stay; I have something here," holding out the glass, "that will make thee go through all with firmness.' Vargrave took it, and drank a deep draught; when, pouring out some more, Helen drank it off. "Dost thou believe that I am guilty of making such a plot, Helen? Dost thou believe De Vere ?" "Believe him! No, I would not believe him though he swore it on his death-bed. But he will be foiled; thou wilt not die upon the scaffold, Harry." "How? What mean you? Speak, and let me not be in suspense. Has a reprieve come? Am I to be released?" Reprieve come! No, that has there not; nor wilt thou be released until thy soul takes its flight away from thy body. No, no; expect it not from thy country's laws. It is I who have enabled thee to escape the scaffold. Hark you, Harry; do you know what that was you drank just now? 'Twas poison. I mixed it that you should escape." "Gracious Heaven! Then have I killed thee, too, Helen? Thou hast drank of the cup as well as I. May Heaven forgive us both!" 66 "See, Harry," said she, clasping her arms round his neck, and looking him in the face; see how a woman can die for the man she loves. We shall die together. Is not that happiness? Is not it better than being carried in a cart before a gaping crowd, and hanged like a dog." "Oh! Helen, thou mak'st me love thee more and more. I little thought that thou hadst such a daring spirit. But, oh! Aug., 1846.-vCL. XLVI.-NO. CLXXXIV. 2 P how giddy my head begins to feel! Oh! how it burns! Helen, where are you? Everything swims around me. Oh! my God, have mercy on our souls!" An hour after this scene the turnkey came to fetch away the visitor, when he found them clasped in each other's arms, quite dead. They had died together, as they had wished. There was a letter lying upon the table, and its contents ran thus:"Bury the innocent in one grave, close together. Their hearts were entwined during life, separate not their bodies in death." Twelve months after this a mournful procession made its way from Newgate to the place of general execution. The prisoner was a young man who was to suffer for a crime done a long time back. It was no other than De Vere. One of his comrades had brought him to justice. Thus died the guilty man who had sacrificed two lives for the love of lucre. T. T. H. STANZAS AT EVENING. BY MRS. B. F. FOSTER. OH! how I love the placid eve The raptured soul, on wings of bliss, Oh! could the spirit, in its flight Meet with some long-lost soul of light, And commune once again Tho' but a moment, it would be A moment of deep ecstasy. But yet, what agony to think That those bright, glorified, Might haply from my presence shrink, Shunning a spirit that is bound With spells of earthly love around. Then let the heart no longer sigh DIVISION LEAVE. A FRAGMENT OF EXILE. CHAPTER I. "If it be true that 'good wine needs no bush,' 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue: yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in, then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play ?"-As You Like It. "TAKE my advice, and wait till the cool weather sets in." "I assure you, the heat to the northward is unbearable." "Indeed, you should not venture in the month of May." All very good, my kind friends and advisers, but what is a man to do? I am sick, perhaps more than usually ennuyé with monotony; this perpetual routine of drill and duty has become a spur to my application. They have refused to give me more leisure than between the returns, and I will at once make the most of what I can get. I must proceed on division leave. After all, the project cannot be so very appalling, for no sooner has my determination been known, than a companion de voyage presents himself. We start on the evening of the 5th instant. There is a beautiful, hard, even sea-beach; the tide is low; the sun, after a day's diffusion of excessive munificence, is losing its power, and my companion and I have started on our little expedition. When I survey myself from top to toe, while spurring a not very choice dark bay Arab, along the edges of each expended wave, I cannot but think how strange a costume would that which I have chosen appear to an un-Indianized English eye. I will introduce my chocolate-coloured coat as the one made up for an amateur performance of Monsieur Morbleu; my black silk waistcoat is a remnant of the Chinese expedition, my red-striped handkerchief is borrowed, my hat is Manilla straw, with tapes tied under the chin, and covered with white for protection against the heat, my white corderoys have been made for the occasion, and a huge pair of jack-boots and spurs complete the picture-one, perhaps, more suited to a British highway than a climate at 96 in the afternoon! However, hip a hoy! here we go, a good seventeen miles before us, ere settling down for the evening. There is no time to be lost. Our start was from Waltair-the suburb, as it were, of Vizagapatam; our first stage is to Bimlipitam. I propose changing horses at Woopada; the beach is good for the whole way, or nearly so, and the sea-breeze, such as there is, cannot |